When Samantha opened the package from Tom, she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of that white satin and lace vintage
early 60ís long-line open-bottomed girdle, a matching padded bra and tan seamed silk stockings, all of which would just look
heavenly with her vintage white Marilyn Monroe dress and matching stiletto heel pumps, an utterly perfect ensemble for tonightís
special long-awaited celebration.

As expected, Tom met me in the foyer of his historic Hollywood Hills mansion, my sexy Marilyn dress, quickly lying discarded
upon the foyerís floor, my wrists bound tightly behind my back for the familiar trip downstairs to the entrance of our secret
dungeon torture chamber, a place Iíve come to appreciate as my personal chamber of terrifying masochistic delight.

Since an early age, Tom and I have both shared a love for those classic early 60ís horror movies. Films like the Castle of Blood,
the Whip and the Body, Crypt if the Vampire, the Long Hair of Death and Nightmare Castle but our personal favorite has always been
the Italian classic ďLa Vergine di NorimbergaĒ or better known on its American release, ďThe Virgin of Nuremberg.Ē

The daughter of our mutual fatherís second wife, I was just seventeen when my older half-brother Tom seduced me, an unforgettable
night of unbridled debauchery where he violated every orifice of my tightly bound body multiple times. And even though heís married
now, our incestuous love affair has endured for well over a decade. Hell, he had me the night before his wedding, even though I was
his blushing brideís maid of honor.

Sharing my desires, my step-brother Tom spared no expense in equipping our private dungeon with brutally unspeakable instruments of
torture to fulfil all my darkest masochistic fantasies. Countless nights spent dangling from my wrists, my desperate screams echoing
off the sound-proof walls as his whip left crimson contrails of fiery agony across the smooth whiteness of my skin. Of long weekends
spent upon his rack, my taut body stretched beyond any vestiges of masochistic pleasure, my shoulders threatening to dislocate if he
tightens the rack another notch.

While Iíve always loved Tom inviting me over for a night of torturous debauchery in our private dungeon playroom, itís our special, 60ís
horror movie themed nights that Iíve loved the best. Nightís that I live out many of my darkest nightmarish fantasies, to be that scantily
clad 60ís horror movie damsel in distress, a beautiful woman helplessly doomed to suffer a fate worse than death.

Of course, Iíve yet to experience my darkest, most erotic nightmarish fantasy, one that has haunted my dreams since I first watched the
movie ďVirgin of NurembergĒ as a teenager, death within that movieís diabolical Iron Maiden. That memorable horror movie opens with a
beautiful woman screaming in agony as she dies within the movieís horrific Iron Maiden. The victimís mutilated bloody corpse discovered
still strapped within the Maiden by the movie's leading lady, who inevitably finds herself also trapped within that same deadly Iron Maiden,
with the fiendishly cruel executioner slowly closing the Maidenís spike-line door. Sadly, she's rescued, the hero saving her from a slow
agonizingly torturous death helplessly impaled upon the Maidenís sharp spikes.

Death in the Iron Maiden, a diabolically brutal form of torturous execution, once reserved exclusively for women found guilty of adultery
or unrepentant promiscuous behavior, for me, my ultimate fate worse than death, and one that sadly always seemed beyond reach. That was
until Tom heard of a reclusive maker of exquisite instruments of torture and death, a man known as the ďToy Maker,Ē who for a small fortune
was all too willing to bring my darkest fantasy to life. Using a full body, MRI that shows the exact position of every organ and major
blood vessel within my body, along with a full body plaster cast of me wearing the same vintage lingerie and high heels that Iím wearing
tonight, he created what he claims to be his greatest work.

A custom-designed Iron Maiden, its sharp spikes positioned to maximize its victimís agonizing torment while avoiding fatal damage to her
vital organs to ensure she endures a lingering death of unrelenting agony. An Iron Maiden intended exclusively for the torturous execution
of a single woman and at long last to fulfil my darkest torturously deadly fantasy, to suffer that slow agonizing death within the Iron Maiden
Iíve longed to experience for far too long.

So, here I stand, strapped helplessly within the claustrophobic confines of my personal Iron Maiden. My half-brother Tom waiting patiently, in
his crimson executionerís uniform, for the clock to chime midnight before he begins to close the Iron Maidenís deadly spike-lined door, the
door locking shut, painfully impaling me on the Maidenís spikes just as the twelfth and final gong of midnight sounds.

Ironically, it somehow seems fitting that the dreams of death within the Iron Maiden that have haunted my darkest erotic nightmares for the
last twenty years have inevitably come to fruition. I doubt any medieval judge would have hesitated to condemn me to die in the Iron Maiden,
my ongoing incestuous affair with my half-brother Tom certainly qualifying as unrepentant promiscuous behavior, not to mention our last few
years of adultery since his marriage.

So, in a few minutes, Iíll experience for myself if the Toy Makerís horrific claims actually come true. That, Iím fated to survive for at
least three full days trapped in unrelenting, agonizingly painful torment, a slow steady trickle of blood gradually filling the large basin
carved into the Iron Maidenís stone base, until I finally bleed out.

And happily, I already know with absolute certainty, that this time, there will be no hero coming to save me from my diabolically torturous
fate, a fate that promises to be far more excruciatingly painful than any mere death...